Wonder and Wild Desire

by Jeanne Stephens

  Wonder and Wild Desire

  By

  Jeanne Stephens

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Just in time

  for January…

  Janet Dailey's

  The Hostage Bride

  It's been said that Janet Dailey "wrote the book" on romance. And Silhouette Books is thrilled to announce that Janet Dailey, America's best-loved romance author, will now be writing for Silhouette Romances, starting with The Hostage Bride in January.

  You may have enjoyed one of Janet's recent novels: Touch the Wind, The Rogue or Ride the Thunder. All three made The New York Times best-seller list—and together sold well over three million copies! Her latest book, Night Way, is currently on the best-seller list, and is another million-seller.

  More than eighty million people have already fallen in love with Janet Dailey. Her books have been translated into seventeen languages and are now sold in ninety different countries around the world.

  We're sure that you too, will fall in love with Janet Dailey's romance novels. Be sure to watch for The Hostage Bride next January.

  Dear Reader,

  Silhouette Romances is an exciting new publishing series, dedicated to bringing you the very best in contemporary romantic fiction from the very finest writers. Our stories and our heroines will give you all you want from romantic fiction.

  Also, you play an important part in our future plans for Silhouette Romances. We welcome any suggestions or comments on our books, which should be sent to the address below.

  So enjoy this book and all the wonderful romances from Silhouette. They're for you!

  Elaine Shelley

  Silhouette Books

  PO Box 703

  Dunton Green

  Sevenoaks

  Kent

  TN13 2YE

  Copyright © 1981 by Jeanne Stephens

  First printing 1981

  ISBN 0 340 27660 6

  For John K. Payne

  with gratitude for his

  continuing encouragement

  O lyric Love, half angel and half bird

  And all a wonder and a wild desire.

  —Robert Browning,

  The Ring and the Book, bk. i

  Chapter One

  The day began as all weekdays did for Caroline Franklin. She bathed and dressed her ten-month-old nephew, Mike, fed him his oatmeal and orange juice, and carried him across the hall to the apartment of Mrs. Mawbrey, the widow who cared for him while Carrie was at work. She then took a city bus through Boise, arriving at the Simpson Car Agency a few minutes before eight-thirty, in time to make coffee in the office percolator before the arrival of Gladys Kincaide, the office manager.

  Mr. Simpson came in about nine and went directly through the showroom to his office, calling a clipped "Morning," toward the glassed-in cubbyhole where Carrie and Gladys worked.

  Carrie wasn't sure at what precise moment she began to feel uneasy. Gladys was unusually uncommunicative and hardly looked up from her ledgers and calculator. Mr. Simpson, who was ordinarily all over the place, remained closeted in his office, buzzing only once for Gladys to bring him his coffee. None of the salesmen came by to chat and joke as was their custom.

  By lunchtime Carrie's intuition told her something was very much awry. She experienced a sense of doom hovering just above her head, and her imagination began to fabricate various potential catastrophes that might fall upon her at any moment. Mike must be all right or Mrs. Mawbrey would have phoned, she assured herself as she got her coat from the corner rack and prepared to go out for a hamburger.

  "Can I bring you anything, Gladys?" she asked her co-worker, who was still bent over the ledgers.

  "What? Oh, no, thanks, Carrie. I brought a sandwich."

  She put on her coat and left the cubbyhole-office to walk across the tiled showroom floor. Before she reached the entry, however, Mr. Simpson's office door opened and he thrust his balding head out.

  "Carrie, I wonder if you would mind stepping into my office before you go to lunch. It will only take a moment."

  "Certainly, Mr. Simpson." She joined him in the small paneled office.

  "Please, sit down." He shut the door and walked around the desk to sit facing her.

  She looked at him questioningly. Mr. Simpson—in his mid fifties and growing thick around the middle— had been extremely kind to her during the past thirteen months since she had come to work for the agency. There had been occasions when she had sensed that he was curious about her situation, the fact that she, twenty-one years old and unmarried, was raising her nephew alone. When she had brought Mike home from the hospital, she had taken a few days off to get things organized and find a baby-sitter. At that time she had told him merely that Mike's mother was dead and she had taken on the responsibility of caring for him. Beyond that, she had successfully avoided answering any questions from Mr. Simpson and the other people who worked at the agency.

  Something in the way Mr. Simpson was looking at her now caused her uneasiness to increase. "Yes, sir?" she prompted as he settled back in his chair. He began shifting some papers about on his desk as if he had forgotten why he had asked her to come in—or, now that she was there, could not bring himself to broach the subject.

  He laid the papers aside and leaned back, folding his hands across his thick waistline. "Carrie, this is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but—I'm going to have to let you go."

  Carrie stared at him, certain momentarily that she had not understood correctly. Then she realized she had understood, and at last she knew the nature of the doom that she had sensed hovering about her all morning. Gladys and the salesmen had known, of course, and had been avoiding her. It was all so clear now.

  The color drained from her face. "I—I don't understand, Mr. Simpson. You've never said that my work isn't satisfactory—"

  "Oh, no, no," he interrupted her, his fleshy face going ruddy with distress and embarrassment. "It's nothing like that. You've done a good job here. Gladys has told me a number of times how bright you are, how much you have helped her in the office. But you are aware, I am sure, that car sales have been off for a couple of months now. All indications are that business will be slow right on through the winter."

  "I see," she murmured, wishing that she could shut out his words, could somehow change the last few minutes. She ran slender fingers that had begun to shake through her dark brown hair and asked, "When do you want me to leave?"

  The man winced visibly under the steady gaze of her blue-green eyes. "Today," he said finally. "Oh, I know I should have given you some warning, but I put off making this decision as long as I possibly could— hoping against hope that business would pick up. I know you have responsibilities. Gladys and I went over the books last week, looking for some way we could keep you." He sat forward, and there was earnest regret in his expression. "There isn't any. So—" He spread his blunt fingers, linking them together in front of him. "You might as well clean out your desk and leave now if you want. You have a week's vacation coming and two weeks' severance pay. Gladys will make out a check." He stared at his linked fingers for a moment, as if searching for another answer there, then met Carrie's vulnerable gaze. "I'm sorry, Carrie. Feel free to use my name as a reference on job applications. If you don't find something you want before spring, check back with me. I'll rehire you in a minute if business picks up."

  "Thank you, Mr. Simpson," she said, coming
out of the frightening jumble of her thoughts long enough to get to her feet and leave the office to return to the glassed-in cubicle. Gladys looked up from her ledgers as Carrie began taking her few personal belongings from her desk and stuffing them into her shoulder bag.

  "He finally got up enough nerve to tell you, I guess," the middle-aged office manager said.

  "Yes," Carrie replied, zipping her bag closed and turning to face Gladys. "He said you'd make out my check."

  Gladys opened her desk drawer. "I already have. I'm sorry, Carrie. You're the best help I ever had in here. I don't know how I'll do it all without you."

  Carrie tucked the check into the side pocket of her bag and managed a smile. "I've enjoyed working with you, Gladys. I'll miss you. Tell the salesmen goodbye for me."

  She left the office and stepped out into the dreary November afternoon. Outside on a busy Boise street she clutched her bag and began to run in the direction of the bus stop, her open coat and dark brown hair flying out behind her. Halfway there, a sign penetrated her consciousness: Cafe. She halted and looked through the glass front. Seeing only a few customers, she walked in and took the most isolated table in the darkest corner, wanting to be alone for a few minutes so that she could recover her composure.

  She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and coffee, but when the order arrived she discovered that she was not hungry. The sandwich grew cold as she sat clenching the thick, warm mug in both hands. The feeling of desperate panic that had vibrated through her when Mr. Simpson told her she no longer had a job continued to plague her.

  "Check back in the spring," he had said. For one crazy instant she had had to fight back hysterical laughter. Spring! She had barely managed to make ends meet the past ten months. Now she had three weeks' pay in her purse and no savings, and it was the worst possible time of the year to be looking for a secretarial job. There was a ten-month-old baby dependent on her for food and shelter, and he couldn't wait until spring!

  She closed her eyes and a tremor ran through her. What was she going to do? Things had gotten progressively worse, it seemed, ever since she and her younger sister, Meg, had moved to Boise two years ago. They had been raised in a small Idaho town by an aunt, the spinster sister of their father, after their parents were killed in a plane crash. Aunt Liz had done what she called her duty, but she had begrudged every dime it took to feed and clothe her nieces. The two girls had lived for the day when Meg would be eighteen and Carrie nineteen, and they could leave their aunt's house and that dreary little town behind.

  They had come to Boise with stars in their eyes. At first it had seemed that their dreams of a good life in the big city might be realized. They both found jobs in the office of a retail lumber company and moved into an attractive apartment. The lumber company was part of the huge Revell organization, which was headquartered in a town three hundred miles north of Boise near the Washington border in the heart of the vast forest lands owned and leased by the corporation.

  Meg and Carrie had only been working at their new jobs two weeks when Danny Revell strolled in on one of his periodic visits to Revell businesses. It was a part of his duties as assistant to his older brother, Joshua Revell, the head of the corporation.

  Danny Revell, she thought bitterly—the man who had changed the Franklin sisters' lives forever. On the day they met, Danny asked both Carrie and Meg to have dinner with him that evening. They accepted readily, since they knew few people in Boise.

  At twenty-five Danny was tall, blond, and good-looking—the hail-fellow-well-met sort of man who always has a funny story to relate and always dressed with elegant style and frequented the finest places. But it had not taken Carrie long to realize that, underneath his surface charm, he was spoiled, selfish, and shallow. Meg, on the other hand, could see no flaw in him and within weeks was head over heels in love. The two began to date regularly whenever Danny was in town. On several occasions Carrie tried to caution her younger sister about letting herself become seriously involved with Danny. He was a member of one of the wealthiest families in the state, and Carrie doubted seriously that he wanted anything more than an occasional good time with her naive little sister. But by that time Meg was too much in love to listen to reason.

  Then had come that dreadful night when Meg had returned from a date with Danny and awakened Carrie, sobbing uncontrollably that she wanted to die. When Carrie got her calmed down, she discovered that Meg was pregnant with Danny's child. Upon learning the news earlier that evening, Danny had gone into a frenzy of rage, yelling that he would deny the child was his, that he wasn't fool enough to be trapped into a marriage he didn't want, and that he never wanted to see Meg again.

  The next day Carrie had gone to Danny's hotel, hoping to find him in a more approachable frame of mind. She would never forget that confrontation as long as she lived.

  "Do you think I would marry a small-town hick like your sister?" he had snarled at her. "Don't expect me to buy her off, either. I don't think that baby is mine!"

  Carrie had been almost physically overwhelmed by the hate she saw in his blue eyes, and it had taken all her self-control not to slap his handsome, leering face. But something had warned her that Danny was on the edge of some emotional precipice, and she had clenched her hands into fists at her sides. "You know very well it's your baby!"

  "Prove it!" he had cried, with a frightening triumph twisting his lips. "Now," he went on, "you listen to me. If you and your sister spread this story around, I'll make you regret it. Your reputations won't be worth mud when I get through, and you'll never get another job in Boise. Now, get out of here and don't ever come near me again!"

  Fortunately, she had not told her sister that she intended to see Danny, so she did not have to tell her of his second rejection. Meg had stayed in the apartment for days, refusing to go out, refusing even to go to work for fear of running into him. A week later, however, Carrie learned from a co-worker that Danny Revell had been sent to South Africa to head one of the Revell businesses. It was all very unexpected and strange, Carrie's informant said; but Carrie thought bitterly that it was not strange at all. By removing himself from the country Danny was protecting himself against any charges Meg might be thinking of bringing.

  About a month after that, the news had reached the lumber company that Danny had been killed in South Africa when his sports car had gone out of control and crashed.

  Meg had returned to work until her pregnancy could no longer be disguised by loose jackets and sweaters. "What am I going to do?" she had wailed to Carrie on the morning that she discovered she could no longer get into any of her clothes. "We'll starve—but I can't go to Aunt Liz. Carrie, you must promise me you won't tell her. You know she never wanted us to come to Boise in the first place. She wanted us to stay in that awful town and pay her room and board."

  She was becoming hysterical, and Carrie soothed her with assurances that sounded more heartfelt than they actually were. "We won't starve, honey, and we don't need Aunt Liz's help. We'll both resign our jobs at the lumber company. I'll say we've been called back home and that you've gone on ahead. I'll give a few weeks' notice—long enough to find another job. We'll manage, and we'll take care of the baby when it's born."

  The next day Carrie had begun to carry out her plan. Several weeks later she found the job at the Simpson Car Agency. Meg stayed at home, took care of the apartment, and cooked their meals. Financially, it was an extremely tight three months while they waited for the baby's arrival.

  The other problems that developed during those three months proved to be worse than their financial condition, however. Meg fell into deep depressions that lasted for days, and then she began having kidney trouble. Her doctor tried numerous diets and medications, but the disease hung on all during the last two months of Meg's pregnancy, causing pain and even more severe depressions. The baby was born one cold January night, and twelve hours later Meg was dead from complications caused by her kidney disease.

  In her last lucid moments, Meg had extrac
ted a promise from Carrie that she would raise the baby. Later, Carrie realized that her sister had known she was going to die for some time, that she probably had wanted to die.

  There was no longer any possibility of keeping the truth from Aunt Liz. Carrie had called to tell her of the baby's birth and Meg's death. Her aunt had grudgingly agreed to pay the funeral expenses, but she added that she hoped Carrie didn't expect her to help care for the child, since she was no longer physically or financially able to take on a burden like that. Not until that moment did Carrie realize she had been harboring a feeble hope that her aunt would insist on helping with the baby. But she only said that she and the baby would be fine, and then they had discussed shipping Meg's body back home for burial.

  After the funeral Carrie took Mike back to the apartment she and her sister had shared. During the first two months, she didn't think she was going to make it. There was never enough money to last from one paycheck to the next, and the work involved in caring for an infant was unending. But Mike was healthy, a good baby, and he thrived under Carrie's sometimes awkward attempts to do what was best for him.

  Then one day on the street Carrie ran into Janice Winton, a friend from high-school days. Jan, a willowy redhead, had moved to Boise immediately after graduation, searching for the bright lights and excitement that her daring, rather flamboyant nature craved. Carrie had always liked Jan, and on that blustery March afternoon the redhead had seemed like an angel sent straight from heaven. The meeting caught Carrie at a low point emotionally, and almost before she realized it she was sitting across from Jan in a restaurant pouring out everything that had happened to Meg and her since their arrival in Boise.

  Wisely Jan let her talk, and when she was talked out the redhead said, "Oh, poor Meg, poor little kid. But, listen, I have a suggestion that might help you."